Crossed Signals
by Trespaises
Summary: I swear I'm not neglecting "Away from it all." I wrote this about a year ago and make references to it in other stories, including AFIT. This takes place the night Daphne accepts Donny's proposal.


Crossed Signals takes place after "Visions of Daphne," the night Daphne accepts Donny's marriage proposal. Thanks to Sydney for letting me drag her into a debate about the place of songs and lyrics in stories.  
  
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Crossed Signals  
  
By Amy (amydekanter@yahoo.com)  
  
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It was too quiet. So quiet Daphne actually sensed the emptiness before she went to the bedrooms to find that both Dr. and Mr. Crane were out. Except for Eddie, she was all alone.  
  
It was what she had wanted, and it wasn't. She had planned to spend the evening in her room, away from Dr. Crane's questions and Mr. Crane's looks, but she had also counted on their presence, on the reassurance of knowing they were around.  
  
"I don't suppose you'd like to sleep in my room tonight, would you?" Eddie raised his head, as surprised as she by her invitation. "Maybe just until Mr. Crane gets back."  
  
She was relieved when Eddie followed into her room and settled comfortably at the foot of her bed. As she changed into her nightie she wondered where the two men could be. It was nearly midnight.  
  
Instead of getting under the covers, Daphne took one of her pillows and lay down next to Eddie. She had a feeling she would have trouble sleeping and wanted someone close by.  
  
Eventually she did sleep...then woke again shortly before 2 am to the sound of music coming from the living room. That was odd. Eddie's head was raised but he was not scratching at the door the way he would if Mr. Crane were back.  
  
Wrapping up in her robe, she slipped out of her room. She could tell now that it wasn't recorded music; someone was playing the piano. Sondheim. That too was odd. Not at all part of her employer's usual repertoire.  
  
She peeked around the corner to explain one mystery and uncover another. It wasn't her employer at the piano. It was her employer's brother.  
  
She stayed half-hidden behind the wall. Dr. Crane wasn't singing, but Daphne knew and loved the song. She had performed it before - with her light opera works company - and could place the words as clearly as if she were hearing them. She knew, of course, that it was not a happy song, but it was not until tonight that she'd realised how hopelessly sad it was, both in melody and lyrics.  
  
Dr. Crane did not see her, seemingly too absorbed in his own music. Daphne supposed it happened to all accomplished musicians ...but to this extent? His face was a mask of grief, identifying with the person in the song. Someone who would continue turning and reaching and waking and dying, day after day after day after day... until the day he died.  
  
Daphne leaned against the wall. The general feeling of loneliness she had been feeling all evening, the music, the lyrics in Daphne's head, and - more than anything - her friend's anguished expression, worked together to pull tears from her eyes, forcing them down her cheeks. She stood there, also part of the song, listening, watching and crying, as the last note was released, hanging in the air forever until it too finally died.  
  
Dr. Crane had stopped with his shoulders slumped and his head bowed over the keyboard. Slowly, he lifted his fingers from the silent keys. He folded his arms on top of the piano and let his head fall onto them. He said something which she did not quite catch: it sounded like her name but she was certain he had not seen her, so she must have been mistaken. Daphne wiped her cheeks as she stepped out into the living room.  
  
"Dr. Crane..." she said. His head shot up.  
  
"Daphne..." Dr. Crane rose to his feet so fast he nearly knocked over the piano bench. When he spoke again, he stammered badly. "I... I thought you were at Donny's."  
  
"No, he had to work late so I told him I'd see him tomorrow." She did not want to think about Donny. She had come home specifically not to think about Donny... or rather not to think about the fact that she did not want to think about Donny. Dr. Crane's face was drawn and more pale than usual. She must have given him quite a fright. "Did you come looking for your brother? He's not here. I haven't seen your father either."  
  
"Frasier and Dad are at my place. They stopped for a visit tonight and then it became too late for them to go home." His stammer was slightly better but he still looked shaken. "I couldn't sleep and I wanted to... I mean... I... " he glanced at the piano.  
  
"You didn't want to wake them. I understand." Still, it was unusual. They rarely visited the Montana and she'd never known them to stay the night before. Not that it mattered much; she was unaccountably happy that he was here tonight. "What you were playing just now... it's one of my favourites."  
  
"I know," he said softly. "You used to hum it all the time."  
  
"Did I? When?" It seemed astonishing that she had ever sung it as just any old song. Lovely and sad, yes, but she knew she'd never again be able to hear it or sing it without weeping.  
  
"Er... it was quite a while back. When you first started working here."  
  
"That was years ago." Now that he mentioned it, it was ages since she'd even thought of that song.  
  
"It's not what I planned... it just happened..." he took a deep breath. "I was supposed to be practicing this..." he leaned over and played the first few bars of 'My love is like a red, red rose.' "You once said it reminded you of home."  
  
"For me?" Daphne was touched. She vaguely remembered saying something to that effect, but again, that was years ago. "You really have a remarkable memory..." she started towards him then stopped as he visibly tensed and his eyes darted around the room as if seeking an escape. Why?  
  
"It's just a... a serenade of apology," he said quickly, looking so embarrassed and nervous that Daphne's heart ached.  
  
"Is that why you look so sad? Because you think I'm still cross with you?" She would feel so awful if it were true. She was the one who had sought him out today and all he had tried to do was help her be happy. She sat down at the edge of the piano bench, hoping he would sit next to her and keep playing. Dr. Crane glanced at her then looked away, again as if desperate for a means of escape. A feeling like panic rose in Daphne's chest. Suddenly nothing mattered more than Dr. Crane not being upset with her. Nothing mattered more than not losing him.  
  
"Dr. Crane, please... I'm so sorry. Please stay with me a while. You were such a good friend to me today and you've always been such a comfort... It seems that the only time I can get my head to stop spinning is when you're around. Please..." She was crying again. With desperate, reflexive action, her hands reached up and clasped his arm. "I need you."  
  
Slowly, Dr. Crane sat back down. He reached into the pocket where he normally kept his handkerchief but came up empty handed. A moment of seeming to be at loss and then he reached over and gently wiped away her tears with his fingers. Then he put his arms around her and hugged her.  
  
"I'll stay as long as you need me," he said. Daphne clutched him gratefully. How about forever, she wanted to ask. It felt good to be in the arms of a friend. Of this friend.  
  
"Oh, Dr. Crane, do you think I'm making a huge mistake?" Even before it was out of her mouth she realised what it was that that had been bothering her all evening. She held onto him tighter and cried as she had needed to all evening, allowing herself to be comforted by warm arms and gentle hands stroking softly up and down her back.  
  
As she cried out her doubts, room was left for something else and, in confusion, Daphne pulled away. She should have paid more attention during today's psychoanalysis session. Why was she newly engaged and crying? And why was she grateful for her own confusion because it gave her a chance to be comforted by someone other than Donny. Dr. Crane still had not answered her question.  
  
"Well, do you?" she asked, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her robe. He failed to look appalled. "Do you think I'm making a mistake?"  
  
"Daphne... I'm the last person who can answer that."  
  
"No, of course." She knew she had put him in an awkward position this morning, asking him a question when all she wanted was for him to agree with her. It was not fair to ask him again. It was obvious everyone in the Crane family thought she would be crazy not to marry Donny. And they were probably right.  
  
"Are you still having doubts?" he asked.  
  
"No... yes... I don't know. I've turned down proposals before, but I've always had a reason, or found one. I can't think of a single thing wrong with Donny, or with us... I just wish I knew why it doesn't feel the way it should."  
  
"Your visions, maybe?"  
  
"Are you laughing at me?"  
  
"No, Daphne, believe me... I have never felt less like laughing in my life." One look at his face convinced her.  
  
"Not just my visions then. Rather... not just the ones I have, but the ones I don't have."  
  
"Tell me." His tone was gentle and his eyes compassionate. He was not just a good listener, Daphne thought. Like his brother and father, he really cared about her.  
  
"It's just that when I think about marriage I don't think about how we get along now, or about the sex, or the kind of house we'll have or whether we'll have children or not... I mean, that's not the most important part." She couldn't believe she was telling Dr. Crane all this. He was so easy to talk to. Which was why she'd landed in his office this morning. "Before all that, I wanted someone I could imagine still wanting to kiss forty years from now."  
  
"You are speaking in the past tense," he said quietly. Daphne stared at him then nodded, realising he was right. As if by accepting Donny she had given up on her dream.  
  
"I've been in love many times before... And I'm madly in love with Donny, it's just that I can't seem to picture him in my future." There, now Dr. Crane had every right to make fun of her, or psychoanalyse her, or list the many reasons why she should not think the way she thought, feel the way she felt. She almost wished he would. But he did not.  
  
"So those are the visions you are not having?"  
  
"Yes," Daphne said, aware that her voice sounded small. "I always thought that when the right man came along, I'd be able to picture us in our seventies, talking walks together... holding hands on the porch."  
  
"Balcony."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"You're not on a porch, you're on a balcony." There was a kind smile on his face, humourless but deeply affectionate.  
  
"It was a figure of speech," Daphne told him. Yet... how had he known? She loved balconies and had since she was a little girl and only had only known them from storybooks. In her visions of the future there was a balcony, a place for breakfast in the morning with a view of... everything. In fact, if she were able to really live her vision, she would have...  
  
"Many balconies, actually. I can imagine you travelling a lot during your golden years. Not to new places, but revisiting places you have been to before with your ... husband." For a moment he looked pained again, perhaps thinking he might upset her, but the moment passed. "And in each lodging, hotel or castle, a balcony," he added.  
  
"Dr. Crane, now I'm starting to think you're psychic." How else could he have known about the book she kept with cut out pictures of places she wanted to visit, but not just visit, share with someone. She even had picked out exact places where they would hold hands, kiss, dance or make love... all over the world. She wished so much she could imagine Donny there. In any of them.  
  
"I guess I am having a bit of a vision myself." There was still no mockery in his voice. His eyes were soft. "You look beautiful, Daphne. Your hair isn't all grey, just laced with silver. It suits you." He was looking at her and not at the same time. As if he were in a trance. He reached up and touched the corner of her eye. "This line is deeper," he said. "And this one. And these. And... smile..." With no effort, Daphne obeyed. "And these..." his hand played lightly about her face, then trailed down her neck, tickling. Daphne laughed, feeling lighter than she had since her dream last night. Then she asked the serious question.  
  
"In your vision... Do you see me with anyone?"  
  
"In my vision..." Dr. Crane's hand dropped back to his side. He looked about to say something and then looked away. "Is it enough to tell you that you look happy?"  
  
"I guess so." She knew she could not keep the disappointment out of her voice. She looked at Dr. Crane, wondering where he would be twenty or thirty years from now. And then she saw. She saw someone with his father's white hair - only less of it - with the same angular features made even more elegant with age. The Crane eyes would be the same, still deep blue and very beautiful. Strangely, the vision was not just clear, but familiar. As if she knew that face from many, many times before. Yet she knew she was not thinking of anyone else.  
  
"You have balconies in your house too," Dr. Crane was obviously trying to change the subject, to cheer her up. Daphne decided to let him. "There is one that is your favourite. It is not huge, but it faces the sunrise. You have ... dogs." Daphne laughed as his nose wrinkled in distaste. She knew why. She had always thought that if she owned dogs they would be rescued from a local shelter, like Eddie. Not the neurotic, expensive, bred-to- perfection kind of animal Dr. Crane seemed to prefer.  
  
She thought of the home she had always dreamed of, so very much like he had just described. She could see the early morning light, smell the fresh flowers on the table. Daphne tried picturing Donny there, but he looked exactly as he did today, and gave the impression of a paper doll pasted onto a picture. He just didn't fit. Besides, there was someone else there. Not the mystery man with a red bow tie, but Dr. Niles Crane, the older version, walking into the room and smiling at her as he was smiling now.  
  
"Oh dear, now you've infected my vision. You're there in my future, visiting for breakfast." She grinned. "And my dogs seem quite taken with you."  
  
"I'd like that. Breakfast, I mean." Again Dr. Crane's voice was sad. She wondered if he was remembering his life with Maris and whether he had ever had visions of the two of them growing old together. She put her hand on his.  
  
"So would I," Daphne said, realising as she said it how true the words were. She wanted so much for him to continue being a part of her life. "I would like us to stay in touch... remain friends... have breakfast together once in a while." Dr. Crane took a brave attempt at a smile.  
  
"It's a date," he said. And for some reason the words were like a jolt. He had said those words to her that wonderful night. One of the rare nights they had time together, doing nothing but enjoying each other's company, going to a movie then to dinner. That same night they had seen the old couple and walked home. At the end of the evening they had agreed to do the same again sometime. 'It's a date,' he had said and she had so looked forward to many more evenings like it. And then... what had happened? It no longer mattered. It could not matter. There would be no more opportunities for dates.  
  
Daphne's eyes darted down to Dr. Crane's lips. Each line looked familiar, as if she'd spent years memorising their shape, imagining their texture. Daphne felt herself pulled towards them, towards him, nearly imagining that he too was leaning forward to kiss her. Nearly imagining that...my god, what was she doing?  
  
Horrified by her own behaviour, Daphne jerked away. She did not dare look at Dr. Crane. She wondered what he was thinking. Although she did not feel compelled to share them, she was certain that a psychiatrist like himself would have several things to say about such delusions, about this unashamedly unhealthy need to take advantage of a vulnerable friend.  
  
"Daphne..." his voice sounded ragged. He must have been so disappointed in her. She did not want to give him any excuse to keep his distance from her; he would be unreachable enough once she was married. Oh god, she did not want to think about that.  
  
"You know, I really wouldn't mind hearing that serenade," she interrupted. Now she was the one stammering. After an eternal pause, Dr. Crane's hands began to caress the piano.  
  
Despite what had just happened, she surprised herself by singing along. She had not intended to, but the music swept her away again and demanded voice, mortified silence or more tears.  
  
"Oh my love is like a red, red rose, that's newly sprung in June..." Singing was definitely better than crying, poetry cleansing her of all the strange, strong emotions she could not identify.  
  
"My love is like a melody, that's sweetly played in tune." Dr. Crane joined her in a quieter voice, harmonising perfectly, and reminding her of another of his musical talents. His voice was as laden with the same deep sadness as the music, which touched and surprised Daphne. While her sadness - though unexplainable - was real, she was glad to have someone by her side, singing the song exactly as it was meant to be sung. She was glad that someone was him.  
  
If anyone had asked her just an hour earlier to write the lyrics she was sure she would have never managed it, but tonight the words came, coaxed out by Dr. Crane's music and his own infallible memory. He only faltered once, choking on a cough and leaving her to sing "Fare thee well, my own true love..." alone. Then he recovered and remained with her until the end.  
  
"'Til all the seas gang dry my, my dear, and the rocks melt with the sun. And I will love thee still, my dear, while the sands of life shall run."  
  
The song ended, then the music and, as again they waited for the last of the piano notes to fade away, Daphne turned to face Dr. Crane.  
  
She remembered that night just a year ago when she had gone to his house to talk after her fight with Sherry. That night she and Dr. Crane had found comfort in one another and had almost made love. Even though it seemed like a close call at the time, tonight Daphne wished so much that they had spent that night together. It might have been a one-time episode, but it was something she now felt intensely would have been a shared night she would never forget.  
  
She sighed. It was too late now. She was an engaged woman and the opportunity was gone. He was gazing at her with sad remnants of the song still lingering on his face.  
  
"Daphne...what is it you want?"  
  
From him, from Donny or from life, she wondered. She answered for life, since it seemed the easiest.  
  
"I wish... I wish someone could tell me I'm doing the right thing," she said. "Or at least explain why I can't be sure with anyone. Not even someone as perfect as Donny."  
  
"It really is troubling you, isn't it?"  
  
"I just keep thinking that there is something wrong with me..."  
  
"There is nothing wrong with you." The words were spoken more forcefully than any that evening. Dr. Crane took a deep breath and transformed before her eyes into a closer semblance of his professional self, less sad but just as caring. When he spoke again it was with both compassion and authority. "Daphne, a marriage proposal is a momentous event, so is accepting it. It signifies the choice to change your life forever and if at some level you really thought about that, it is then possible that you are in shock." Again he tried to smile. "In such a case you would not know what to feel just yet... but then as soon as it sinks in, you will start feeling better. Happy, in fact, with the decision you've made."  
  
"Really?" Daphne felt a ray of hope. "Do you really think it could be that? Just shock?"  
  
"It would not be unusual under the circumstances."  
  
"Oh, Dr. Crane. I ... I think you must be right. Of course. I mean, I knew about the proposal, but when I accepted, that was a real surprise. I never expected it. So, it really could be I need time to recover from that jolt, couldn't it? It could be that tomorrow everything will be better."  
  
"It very well could be, Daphne."  
  
"And if not tomorrow, maybe the next day, or next month, but definitely sometime, right? I just have to keep at it. You did say that in your vision, I look happy? In the future?"  
  
"Yes, you do." The sadness was creeping back.  
  
"Then I guess I must be doing the right thing." Daphne laughed with the lightness of relief. "Listen to me, now I'm much more tempted to believe in your visions than mine." She hugged him. "Oh, thank you, Dr. Crane. I feel so much more like myself now; it really isn't like me to be pessimistic about the future. I can't tell you how much you've helped me."  
  
Dr. Crane barely hugged her back but he murmured into her hair, "That's all I ever wanted to do."  
  
"I know." She pulled away to smile at him, unspeakably grateful to him for having given her the gift of hope. Again. She would marry Donny, a man she loved and who loved her. How could the future be anything but perfect?  
  
Dr. Crane gazed at her. No matter how affected he was by memories of his own recent divorce, he still managed to look happy for her.  
  
"Well," he said, working on a smile. "If you like Sondheim, perhaps you might remember this more cheerful number..." Daphne caught his hand before it touched the keyboard.  
  
"If you don't mind, Dr. Crane... would you mind playing Debussy?" He looked at her. "The first time I heard you play you were playing that Arabesque. I'd like to hear it again."  
  
He didn't move. Or look at her. Daphne wondered if perhaps Debussy had more than one Arabesque. She hadn't known the name of the piece then but she had asked Dr. Crane - Frasier - about it. And she had always remembered. She removed her hand but he still didn't move. Only after what seemed several minutes he laid his fingers to the piano and started to play.  
  
It was still the most beautiful piece of music she had ever heard.  
  
It was after she had first heard that piece that she had placed a grand piano in the home of her future, as much a fixture as the balcony and sunlight. A wave of nostalgia swept over Daphne's heart before she firmly put up a barricade against such feelings. It was just that with such a beautiful instrument in her visions, she could not help but feel sad that neither she nor Donny knew how to play. 


End file.
